


Ink-Stained Fingers

by RandomnonsenseDA (B1nary_S0lo)



Series: Rora Surana [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Coping, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Gift Giving, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 10:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16447913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B1nary_S0lo/pseuds/RandomnonsenseDA
Summary: Zevran, still adjusting to traveling with the Wardens' group, gets to know Rora.





	Ink-Stained Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt on tumblr: "Fingertips smudged in blue ink."
> 
> Zevran and Rora eventually have a little romance in "By Her Side," the last fic in this series. Here, though, the shipping is much more vague. Zevran's *just* starting to realize he might be interested in Rora, and she is already starting to fall for Alistair.

“May I ask,” Zevran said, “what is it you work on so intently every night, my dear Rora? I always see you here, writing away by the fire.”

Rora glanced up from her work, blinking. Judging by her expression, she hadn’t known Zevran was nearby, much less seated at the fire next to her. Whether that was down to his stealth skills or her own lack of awareness—she wasn’t, he could already tell, the most observant type—he had no idea.

“I’m journaling,” she said, half closing the small book. She drew her dark brows together, wary. “Why do you ask?”

“A diary!” he exclaimed, clasping hands over his heart. “A record of love and loss. Ah, I knew as soon as I laid eyes on you that, despite your calm exterior, your heart must be that of a poet.”

Rora snorted, but the way her large brown eyes sparkled spoke more of amusement than annoyance. “Not really. It’s a lot more bare bones than that. Today we went here, tomorrow we have to go there. That sort of thing.”

“Still, it is an admirable thing to keep a record of one’s life,” Zevran said. “Many don’t have such privileges. In my line of work, such a thing would have been a liability.”

“I thought assassins had codes and things for that,” she said.

Zevran studied her carefully. Her posture was more open than it usually was around him. Leaned slightly forward, journal resting loosely on her knees, face eager and curious. This surprised him. In the few chats they’d had since his joining the party about a week earlier, she’d been closed off. One of those shy, painfully reserved people of the type that drove him wild with curiosity. He’d been eager for a chance to break through that shell and learn more.

“You are imagining the assassin’s life to be far more fascinating than it is in reality,” Zevran said. “Bards are the ones who deal in codes. No, assassins just kill people, and keep their own counsel.” He frowned. “I imagine it can’t be very safe for Circle mages to go around writing down details about their life either, though.”

Rora pursed her rosebud lips, thinking. “Maybe  _at_  the Circle,” she said. “Not that anything I would have written back then would have been of much interest to a Templar. Or anyone.”

He couldn’t help but notice, though, that she had gone just the slightest bit pink, and the tone of her voice suggested an acceleration in heart rate. Intriguing.

“But now, you have more interesting things to write about?”

She shook her head. Her posture had changed, slightly more closed off, and she’d pressed the journal tighter to her chest. “Now, I just do it because I can,” she said. “And it’s nice having some kind of… project, or assignment. That is something I miss.”

“Structure?”

“Yes. That’s it.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I’m a bit boring, I suppose.”

“Not at all.” Zevran sat up straighter. “Perhaps  _I_ should begin keeping a diary. Structure isn’t something I have had much chance to experience firsthand, but now is the perfect time to turn over a new leaf.”

Rora squinted at him again, as though she didn’t entirely trust that he was being serious, but the look only lasted for a moment.

“If you really want to, I think I have an extra journal somewhere.” She leaned over, and began digging through the large, worn pack propped up beside her.

Zevran blinked and gave a slight laugh. “You are carrying an extra one around?”

“An extra three, actually. You never know when you’ll run out of pages.”

“And you are carrying how many books, again?”

“Six.”

“Hmm.” Zevran surreptitiously looked her over again, wondering how such a small, slight woman carried what sounded like hundreds of pounds of weight every day.

“Here.” Rora emerged from her luggage to press another leatherbound book, with a black cover, into his hand. “Sorry. It’s a little smaller than the one I use.”

Zevran took the book from her. For a brief moment, his fingers touched hers. They were soft and, he noticed for the first time, stained with blue ink.

“Thank you,” he said, holding the book and looking at her carefully. “I am grateful.”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, then went back to her own writing. Zevran got up and made for his tent, clutching the journal, thinking about ink-stained fingers, and trying to remember the last time anyone had given him a gift.


End file.
